Dark Angel
by Renaissance Gunslinger
Summary: A lone Dark Angel and two stray Guardsmen must survive on the surface of war-plagued Cradix in the throes of a Chaos invasion. Note: My first attempt at a WH40K story; 'complete' only in the sense that I have no intent of going back to it! Be forewarned!


**DARK ANGEL**  
Templar248

Leonidas stomped around the battlefield, the boots of his powered armor submerged up to the ankles in blood and thick, moist earth. The bolter in his right hand was held limply at his side, the arm holding it weak with pain. He craned his head to look at the wound and absently remembered the glancing bolt round punching through his forearm. Blood had ceased to stream down his limb, his super-human regenerative system easily compensating to stanch the flow of blood. It would be several hours before the wound mended together, and a few days before it was a patch of disfigured tissue. Then the injury would be little more than another scar amidst countless other such scars, and would likely be mostly forgotten by the time Leonidas had left the Cradix system.

The now quiet combat zone was a mire of biological refuse, thick with blood and viscera. The carrion flies of Cradix-4 had already descended like a conquering army on the corpses of the deceased: proud Dark Angels Space Marines, loyal Imperial Guardsmen, and the filthy followers of the Chaos powers. The insects were not discriminatory in their selection of meals, tearing into the remains of noble Imperial soldiers and foul Chaos heretics with equal abandon. The sound of their tiny wings added a maddening 'buzz' to the otherwise eerily quiet scene.

Leonidas crested a small hill and scanned the horizon. For miles in every direction, the aftermath of the clash made itself apparent: the blazing hulls of tanks belching oily black smoke up into the overcast sky; hundreds of craters of various sizes, from as small as a man to as large as tanks, pock-marked the landscape, the result of the massive artillery barrage that preceded the battle. Most of the craters had sufficed well as defensive points during the fighting; now they served as open tombs to hundreds of combatants.

More specifically the Dark Angel sergeant searched for survivors, with no preference between ally and foe. If he should discover his battle-brothers or some Imperial Guardsmen, he would rally them and make way for the rendezvous-point. If he encountered more blasphemers, he would add more carcasses to the already choked countryside, or proudly give his life up to the Emperor. Either way, Leonidas thought, I need to do something. Either get off this blasted rock or spill more blood, it makes little difference to me, but I'll go absolutely mad if I don't do something... anything.

As he trudged down the west face of the hill, hopefully heading in the right direction, his mind wandered back to Phygoria Prime, his homeworld. The only inhabited planet in the Phygoria system, itself one of only four planets: two gas-giants, Maelbog and Geharna; the last planet, Tartoros, an icy globe at the fringe of the system. The centerpiece of the celestial arrangement, a dying star nearing the end of its long existence, was situated near the core of the galaxy. He had grown up in the under-levels of Scylla hive, second son to a mother and father whose names he could no longer remember. His brother, whose name started with a 'C' or 'K', had left Scylla to join the founding regiments of the Phygorian Imperial Guard units -

A click... a loud, cold, metallic click.

Leonidas instantly broke from his reverie and crouched low behind the blasted hull of a Chimera troop carrier. He checked the digital display on the side of his bolter, the red '13' indicating enough ammunition for four or five short bursts. Two 30-round sickle-pattern magazines attached to his midsection would allow him to fight from a distance for several minutes, and his chain-sword would add it's brutality to the clash should he begin running low on rounds. In fact, he quite welcomed the prospect of a hand-to-hand fight, something he'd been deprived of in the primarily vehicular and artillery battle that had been in full-swing just a few hours before. Leonidas smiled a frightening, feral grin that would've set any opponent on edge.

The click could have been anything mundane, but his tactical instincts alerted him to other possibilities: a magazine being inserted into a bolter or lasgun; the firing mechanism of an autocannon being armed; the safety switch of a weapon being turned from 'safe' to 'fire'.

Creeping to the edge of the hull fragment, Leonidas peeked his head around and looked for obvious defensible positions. Two locations immediately grabbed his attention, a body-filled crater fifty meters to his north-west, and the charred wreckage of a Rhino thirty meters to the north. Within seconds of peeking his head out, he heard the sudden mechanical 'whirring' of an autocannon barrel, followed moments later by the loud chatter of the firing weapon and the bullets impacting with the wet soil, or ricocheting off the metal vehicle hull.

Within a few moments the firing had ceased, the weapon operators probably guessing whether or not they'd hit their target.

"Identify yourselves!" Leonidas screamed. "Are you friend or foe?"

"Who's asking?" came back a thickly accented response.

"Brother sergeant Leonidas of the Dark Angels Chapter of His Emperor's Adeptus Astartes!" He thumbed the safety switch of his bolter to 'fire' and activated his chain-sword. "Who are you?"

"Sergeant Trake and Trooper Huggin, Imperial Guard, Ytherian 7th!"

Leonidas considered for a moment. If they're telling the truth, than these two Guardsmen were a long way from their unit. The Ytherian 7th, an infantry regiment, was operating over two miles away to the east and was eradicated to a man by concentrated artillery fire and close-assault units. How could these two troopers have gotten this far away from their own theater? Unless they are deceiving Chaos filth...

"Prove it!" Leonidas screamed over the hull.

Minutes passed without a response. So be it, Leonidas thought. I'll send your souls back to your dark masters! Screaming a fierce war-cry, he stood up and charged around the opposite end of the wreckage... then stopped in his tracks, nearly tumbling backward as his booted feet searched for purchase in the slick terrain.

One of the Guardsmen, probably the trooper, was crouched down about halfway across the intervening landscape, carrying a scorched length of pipe with a makeshift white flag tied to one end. When Leonidas had come running and howling around the vehicle hull, the soldier probably thought he was under attack and got down has low as he could to protect himself. Or more likely, terror had overtaken him, and he instinctively curled up in a vain attempt to save himself from the death he felt was coming.

Leonidas ambled over to the young man, sheathing his deactivated chain-sword. He placed a gauntleted hand on the soldier's shoulder, causing the trooper to flinch. When the realization that he was not to be killed crept into him he stood up slowly, staring up into the grim face of his would-be aggressor.

"Calm yourself boy, I'm not the enemy." He adjusted the bolter safety switch to 'safe' and inspected the soldier's uniform. The insignia patch of the Ytherian Imperial Guard - crossed axes set against a half red, half blue disc - was sewn onto his left shoulder. A yellow '7' indicated Trooper D. Huggin as a member of the 7th Regiment.

Satisfied that these Guardsmen were who they claimed to be, Leonidas and Huggin began winding their way through the mess of mangled bodies towards the autocannon emplacement.

The three soldiers sat in the blasted remains of the Rhino troop carrier Leonidas had seen while searching for the source of the 'click', which had been produced by the arming mechanism of the autocannon as Huggin had readied it to fire.

Sergeant Trake and Huggin had been in the middle of eating some field rations heated over a pack stove when they had heard the soft squishing sounds of Leonidas' booted feet displacing the mud of the battlefield.

"Our regimental commissar, some high-and-mighty type by the name of Doven," began Sergeant Trake as he spooned some meat composite into his mouth, "just started firing on the platoon, screaming to all the Heavens that we were treasonous dogs, unfit to serve the Emperor. He got Roiks, Jayken, Lhakal, and some of the rankers before I put him down. By that time it was only Huggin and myself alive, and our platoon was too deep into the Chaos advance for us to withdraw." Trake swigged from his canteen, grimacing slightly at the bitter, brackish taste. "So we waited out the battle in our fox-hole."

Huggin tilted his head away from the autocannon controls, facing Leonidas. "How about you, Sergeant Leonidas? How did you get separated from your men?"

Leonidas shrugged. "Poor luck. A stray artillery shell ripped apart my platoon and I got tossed aside by the shockwave. By the time I woke up, the battle was ended. I was on my way to the rendezvous-point when I found you two."

"Or we found you, sergeant?" Huggin smirked.

Leonidas allowed himself a smile, but not the maniacal one he bared in combat. "Of course, trooper." After a moment of silence, Leonidas turned to Trake. "Have you a vox-caster?"

"Huggin was carrying one for the first mile, until he realized a bolter round had penetrated the casing. Wasn't any good to us anymore, so I told him to drop it." Trake shoved another spoonful of meat into his mouth. "Besides, who would we get a hold of in all this mess?"

"I still have a mission to perform, Sergeant Trake. Until I leave this planet, my orders remain in effect: hunt down the enemy and destroy him at all costs."

Trake chuckled nervously. "With all due respect, Sergeant Leonidas, you are just one marine. What can you do against a whole army?"

Leonidas reflected for a moment before answering. "Anything I must do."

Two hours later the three soldiers had left the confines of the shattered Rhino. They began heading east again, the direction Trake ascertained (using the dead commissar's map) would lead them to the rendezvous-point. As the miles passed, the charnel house of the battlefield began to recede. They were reaching the edge of the battle area, where the right flank of the Chaos force had attempted to drive a wedge into the advancing Imperial Guard tank regiments. They had failed to split the Imperial formation, but had managed to occupy it long enough to cause the rest of the column to slow its momentum. This in turn provided an excellent target for the still thundering enemy Basilisk batteries, which took a terrible toll in Emperor-loyal blood.

"Sergeant Leonidas," started Huggin from behind him, "where else have you fought?"

Leonidas thought about that. He'd never been asked that before, since all the men he had any dealings with were fellow Space Marines. However, he told himself, I suppose the monotonous nature of my life-style must seem rather exciting to him.

"In many places, all across the Imperium." He motioned towards his right shoulder pad, pointing at a laminated medal that hung there. "I received this at the Battle of Kotion Gate, where I and eight of my brothers held a contested bridge against a reinforced regiment of Eldar warriors." He paused for a moment and then added, almost as an afterthought, "Two of my brothers fell on that bridge..."

Up till now, Kotion Gate had remained just another award ribbon on his armor. He remembered it only as a valiant stand against the enemies of Man. Like most Dark Angels, Leonidas was not one to brag of his victories. Rather, every success of his seemed instead a small measure of atonement, of justice in the face of the great wrong his Chapter had once perpetrated, and now brooded over in it's customarily melancholy way.

"Sergeant?" inquired Huggin from behind. "Are you all right?"

Leonidas cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine, trooper." But Huggin had already dropped the subject.

What could they, regular soldiers in the vast armies of the Imperium, know of the history of the Adeptus Astartes? Were they to know the truth, Leonidas considered, would they regard me with the contempt so many others have for the descendents of Lion'el? Would they revile me, deride me as though I were no better then the followers of Chaos they fought against this day?

That's the path of shame, Leonidas thought. Let not the worries of pride cloud your loyalty, he intoned inwardly. The only judgment that matters to the descendents of Lion'el is the judgment of the immortal Emperor, for His is the wisdom of the ages, of forgiveness for those children who have gone astray from the righteous path.

Without knowing it Leonidas had begun singing aloud hymns of praise, to the Emperor and his everlasting Imperium; to his brother-marines who had fallen in battle against the foul heretics, mutants, aliens, and demons that threatened His great works.

"Leonidas!" Trake repeated for the third time. Leonidas snapped back to reality, turning to face the Guardsman sergeant. "Leonidas, do you hear that? Something over the hill; sounds like engines."

No sooner had Leonidas turned towards the hill that two bikes came tearing over the mound of earth, splitting up to drive circles around the trio. Both bikes had a side-car mounted with an autocannon. The guns began their relentless assault immediately, spraying the area where the soldiers stood. Huggin's knee literally exploded as a round struck him, knocking the Guardsman off his feet. Trake lifted his lasgun to his shoulder and began firing off white shards of laser energy, but he was unable to apply lead fast enough to hit his target.

Leonidas growled and lifted his bolter, slightly cringing as pain shot through his wounded arm. He drew a bead on the nearest bike, the gunner cursing angrily at an apparently jammed autocannon. Satisfied with his aim, he quickly shifted the bolter to aim a few feet in front of the bike and fired off a burst. The bike's driver was knocked clean out of his seat, his leg, stomach, and chest a mess of blood and shattered bone fragments.

Suddenly several loud whipping sounds as the gunner of the second bike altered his aim to fire at Leonidas, the obvious threat. As Leonidas turned towards this new opponent, rounds began ricocheting off his shoulder pads and chest, a few impacting heavily with the reinforced armor plating. Though none punctured far enough through to cause any significant damage, the force of the multiple impacts caused him to stagger enough that he was unable to retaliate.

Then the tell-tale crack of a lasgun, again and again. The first few shots went high or wide, but Sergeant Trake quickly adjusted his aim. The next shot punched a whole in the gas tank, causing the entire bike to burst into flames as the highly-volatile promethium contained therein erupted into a giant ball of yellow-orange flame. Engulfed in the blaze, the driver and gunner jumped from the wrecked vehicle, letting it coast to a halt and simply burn.

The driver and gunner died screeching, their skin bubbling and sizzling, the air in their lungs quickly expended as fuel for the flames.

"Sergeant, see to your man!" Leonidas ordered as he advanced towards the other bike. The gunner was still alive. The bike lay several yards away, stranded in place without an operator. The gunner still sat in the side-car, apparently quite happy despite the lack of a driver.

Then it occurred to Leonidas that the gunner still had his weapon.

The realization crossed his mind mere seconds before the gunner opened up on him. He instinctively dived to the side. The ground where he had stood moments before was suddenly filled with tiny dust explosions as the rapid-fire bullets impacted all around. Leonidas lined up his bolter, decades of training making the action expertly smooth and surgically precise.

He pulled the trigger and the top of the gunner's head disappeared in an explosion of skull and brain matter. The rest of the body simply slumped back into the side-car, blood pouring from the half-head sitting limply atop the neck.

He stood up on his feet and closed the distance to the bike. It was a Space Marine design, reinforced armor providing added protection against small-arms fire. It was an amazing shot Trake had made, hitting the gas tank on the first bike. A strengthened frame allowed such bikes to carry a heavier load, namely a fully armored Space Marine. The side-car was not the usual Adeptus Astartes model, but a cruder local variant. In addition, these vehicles were usually armed with a pair of forward-mounted bolters, which were not present here, probably salvaged for use by infantrymen.

Leonidas grabbed the dead body by an arm and lifted him effortlessly out of the side-car. It reeked of corruption, and Leonidas quickly rid himself of it's impurity by tossing the body several feet away. A quick inspection of the bike led Leonidas to believe the vehicle was in good condition with plenty of fuel, though anger tugged his features into a grimace as he made out the defiled symbol of the Imperial double-headed eagle device.

Still, the bike offered a means of transportation that Leonidas could not simply ignore. It would make the trip to the rendezvous area much easier.

Leonidas straddled the heavy bike and turned on the engine.

"You'll be alright, Huggin." Trake finished splinting the limp, bloody leg and helped the man to his feet, helping to support him. "I'll get you a nice medal to remember this by."

Huggin smirked, then winced as he tried moving his leg, adjusting to the limited maneuverability he had with his injury. "Nice try, sarge. How about some furlough on Ytheria?"

"I know I didn't give you that much pain-killer." They laughed half-heartedly.

"How are we supposed to move like this, sergeant?" Huggin inquired. Almost in answer, the two started at the sound of another engine. Huggin instinctively raised his lasgun, a nearly helpless gesture considering he could hardly aim it.

They breathed a sigh of relief as they discerned the armored form of the Dark Angel riding the bike towards them, kicking up plumes of dust.

"Looks like our Space Marine already figured that much out."

Leonidas stopped the vehicle near them, and then dismounted to assist Trake in helping Huggin into the side-car. The autocannon still had plenty of ammunition, though Leonidas warned the trooper that it might be prone to jamming.

"Sergeant," Trake said as he stooped to pick up his lasgun, "where do we head from here?"

"Well, I can presume that these two bikes were outriders, scouting ahead for something. Maybe an armored column, or possibly some infantry." He mounted the bike, Trake sitting behind him. "So we need to get to the rendezvous-point and get them to organize a defense." Leonidas gunned the engine.

"Can we get there in time, sergeant?" Trake said, scanning the plains for the proposed enemy force.

Leonidas circled the bike around slowly, watching for a nod from Huggin stating he was alright to move. Leonidas slid his bolter into the weapon compartment forward of his right leg. "Of course we will, Guardsman. If we don't, we'll never get off this Emperor-forsaken planet."

The Dark Angel's skewed logic only slightly reassured Trake, but the madcap smile that followed unnerved him more than the thought of fighting another bloody battle against the heretic forces. This is going to be a long ride, the Guard sergeant thought to himself.

The rendezvous-point was simply not there.

They had driven for three hours in silence, arriving just as the sun Cradix began to dip below the distant ridgeline.

"Where in the name of the God-Emperor are the others?" Trake said as he removed his lasgun from his shoulder, cradling it nervously, fingering the trigger with a barely-suppressed urge to fire it for no other reason than to break the silence.

Leonidas looked around, hoping to see some remnants of vehicle movement: tread-marks from tanks moving into position; the tell-tale circular outlines of dust disturbed by landing thrusters; footprints left by passing personnel.

But there was nothing, not even a rock accidentally kicked out of place.

"Sergeant Trake?" It was Huggin, yelling from the side-car. "What's wrong?"

"Trooper, keep watching the horizon!" Trake replied, and then turned towards Leonidas. "We're in the right place, sergeant, so where is it?"

Leonidas craned his head to look at Trake. "I don't know. It's possible they moved the site; perhaps they spotted an arm of the heretic force branching off in this direction and shifted it to a safer location." He turned again to look for more signs that, no matter how hard he searched, did not appear. "I was unconscious until the battle was over, and you and Huggin were carrying around a ruined vox-caster. Neither of us was in any position to get the word."

Trake's shoulders slouched, letting the barrel of his weapon point at the dusty ground. "So what now? We can't just drive around aimlessly, hoping to accidentally stumble on it... assuming one even exists. Don't you have any means of contacting your Chapter?"

Leonidas almost laughed at the implausibility of it, until he realized it would do nothing to raise the Guardsman's sagging morale. "I have a communicator, yes. But it's meant for tactical distances, a few hundred meters at best. So if we don't see them from here, I highly doubt they will be within range of my vox-unit."

"So we're stranded..." For several minutes there was silence: Trake, imagining all of the possible ways he could die on Cradix-4; Leonidas, trying to figure out something resembling a good plan; Huggin, out of earshot of the dire conversation, concentrating his eyes eastward, watching for the enemy horde they were all sure was not far off.

"What the..." Huggin muttered to himself. He squinted, staring intently at a distant boulder that he swore had just appeared out of thin-air. But it was moving!

"Sergeant! Sergeant Trake!"

Trake was in no mood to answer the trooper's questions. "Huggin, what did I..."

"Sergeant, I see movement!" Trake and Leonidas shared a quick glance, than darted for the bike. Trake fumbled with his binoculars, uncapping the lens-covers and bringing the unit to his face. It was a vehicle to be sure, small and box-like, treaded. It was painted a dull-brown color, black horse-head insignia emblazoned on its hull.

"Care to look, sergeant?" Trake inquired, motioning the binoculars towards the Space Marine. Leonidas took them, making the bulky device look like a child's toy in his massive fists. He looked out towards the encroaching machine and smiled.

"What do you think, sergeant?" Huggin said, still looking intently out across the darkening landscape.

"It's a Rhino, a troop-carrier. Fellow Space Marines to be sure, though I'm unsure of what Chapter."

Trake gulped, cringing at the prospect of fighting off crazed Chaos-marines. "How can you be sure they aren't... well, you know?"

Leonidas turned to address the sergeant, anger causing him to bite his lip. How could he know, Leonidas thought? How could he understand? "No sergeant, I am certain they are not my fallen brothers." He placed the binoculars against his eyes again. "Those vehicles bear the double-headed eagle. They are our friends, have no worries about that."

Trake noticed the irritation shadowing the warrior's words but made no mention of it, afraid of what the powerful man might do if provoked with a misplaced question. I guess we'll just wait and see who these 'friends' really are, he thought to himself.

It took less then an hour for the newcomers to arrive. It turned out to be an under-strength Company of Black Horse Chapter Space Marines. A mechanized Chapter, specializing in light armor support and fast troop movement, the Black Horse hailed from the desert planet Irvino. Though Leonidas was unfamiliar with them or their lineage, he looked much more comfortable now he was in the presence of his own kind.

"I require an audience with your Company commander, battle-brother." Leonidas spoke to the commander of the first Rhino to pull up to the trio. "I have information regarding the disposition of our foe."

"Of course, brother-sergeant. He'll be in the first Predator behind me, but I'll notify him by vox of your request." Without another word, the Black Horse warrior disappeared back into the hull of his Rhino.

"Trake," Leonidas turned towards his companion, "I'll find their apothecary and have him treat Huggin. I can't promise you they'll have much in the way of food palatable to you, though."

Trake shook his head. "Don't worry about that, sergeant. We brought our own rations. Besides, I've heard enough of the stories about that slime-stuff you eat. I'm in no hurry to try any of it."

Leonidas chuckled. Trake was right, of course. Space Marine field rations were a heavy-protein composite that resembled more a bowl of white sludge than proper food. It tasted faintly of wheat, and had no noticeable smell. Because of its simplicity, it was able to be carried in large amounts, and could be eaten uncooked if necessary. Space Marines are certainly not very discerning in their choice of food, not too unlike the carrion flies, Leonidas mused.

The Black Horse Rhino's had parked in a circle around the bike, a standard Codex deployment for an impromptu camp, Leonidas recognized. Having located the Company apothecary and directed him to the wounded Guardsman, he then went about searching for the commander.

"Brother-sergeant Leonidas, I presume?" The grating voice came from behind Leonidas. Turning to face the stranger, he quickly identified the man as the leader of this unit. Three service studs adorned his brow, rivaling Leonidas single stud. He was shaved bald, a large scar bisecting his head. The Space Marine was armed for close combat, a power-sword held in an ornately decorated sheath at his side, and a plasma-pistol holstered opposite it.

"You presume correctly, and who do I have the honor of addressing?"

"Captain Stratos, commander of the 4th Company of His Emperor's Black Horse Chapter." Stratos looked Leonidas up and down, noting the medal for the Kotion Gate action. "You fought at Kotion?"

"Yes, and a glorious action it was. You were present as well?"

"As a sergeant, yes." He pointed at his scar. "That's where I got this, in a fight with one of their Exarch-captains, those Striking Scorpion bastards with the lasers on their helmets."

"I can assume you defeated him?"

"And added his tainted blood to that of his damnable kin. It was a glorious day." He started walking towards his command Predator, Leonidas striding beside him. "I understand you have information concerning the enemy?"

"As I was advancing towards this place, the rendezvous-point..."

"Alright, you've confirmed what I've been worrying. What happened to the others?"

"I have no idea, captain. We showed up just an hour before you arrived." Leonidas cleared his throat. "I and my Imperial Guard companions were set upon by a pair of scout bikes, Space Marine models. I believe they were a forward recon element for a much larger armored force."

Stratos arched one eyebrow. "Did you actually see this force?"

"Not firsthand. But bikers don't just take joyrides around the countryside in the middle of a war."

"Very true." They reached the vehicle, its box-hull adorned with numerous dents and scars. Stratos banged on the side of the vehicle, eliciting a hatch to open on the turret. A Space Marine popped his head out, followed by his upper-torso.

"Brother-captain, you rang?"

Stratos smiled. "Yes, Toporos. Get on the vox and contact the _Timeless Vengeance_. Tell them Captain Stratos of the Black Horse requires a surface scan of our immediate region, and to report back to me their findings."

"It shall be done, captain." The Space Marine disappeared back into the Predator.

"In the meantime, brother-sergeant," Stratos gave his characteristic mischievous grin, "I should like to hear more of your noble battles."

"Well," started the apothecary, a large-browed man named Ionos, "the wound is a simple thing to treat... or at least it would be for one of my brethren." He gently released Huggin's leg, an action that seemed rather odd with such bulky armor. "This is a good splint, sergeant. You've had much experience?"

Sergeant Trake shrugged, though he was filled with pride to be complimented on his meager efforts by one of the Adeptus Astartes breed. "I was a physician of sorts back home, on Ytheria." He smiled, remembering the old homestead. "Little boys have a nasty habit of roughing themselves up."

Ionos chuckled, even though the concept of treating children seemed a foreign idea to his mind. "I am sure. In any case, my ability to treat wounds on non-enhanced humans is limited in a field environment. I can give you some adrenaline boosters..."

Huggin shook his head. "No, sergeant, that's alright. It doesn't hurt too much anymore."

Ionos grunted. "Spoken like a soldier. But that being the case, there's little I can do for you besides re-splinting the leg."

"I think that'll do fine." Huggin stated simply, worrying as to how Space Marines splinted limbs.

He gulped his fear back.

"Brother-captain?" Toporos had reappeared on top of the Predator.

"Yes, brother?" Leonidas had been regaling Stratos with a duel he had engaged in with an ork warboss several decades ago.

"We've just received the report from the _Timeless Vengeance_. They confirm an armored push coming from the north-east. They've identified fifty-seven vehicles, mixed Leman Russ and various Guard-pattern tanks. Several Basilisk's accompany them, along with an infantry escort, totaling somewhere around eight hundred troops."

Stratos' features sharpened; Leonidas made a harsh growling sound. "Estimated time to contact, brother?"

"They're moving at convoy speed, so it's approximated we will be engaged in about five hours, brother-sergeant."

Leonidas turned to the captain. "What anti-armor assets have you, Stratos?"

Stratos glanced around the assembled company, assessing his capabilities. "We have one Devastator squad, with a missile-launcher and lascannon. Two Predator's, mine and that one." He pointed to a second light-tank opposite the formation, with the word _Excelsior_ stenciled in red letters on its side. "We are a recon and troop-carrying company, brother-sergeant. We haven't the means to give battle to an armored force of that size." He clenched his gauntleted fist. "As much as I would enjoy combating this threat, I'm afraid we wouldn't stand much of a chance."

"The infantry will be nothing," Leonidas retorted, pride and expectation ringing from every word, "but as for the tanks, I believe you're correct, brother-captain. Still, we cannot simply withdraw and leave the foe unopposed."

"This is true... Toporos!" Stratos turned to look up at the turret of his vehicle, where his crewman waited patiently. "Get back on the vox. Tell the admiral that I require him to locate any Imperial assets in the area and divert them towards our location." He glanced sidelong at Leonidas. "Tell him we are preparing for battle, and will hold our position until we are reinforced." Toporos acknowledged, and then retreated back into the metal innards of the Predator once again.

"Well brother-sergeant," Stratos said, that mischievous grin returning to his grizzled features, "I hope you're looking for a good tussle." He strode out into the middle of the formation. "Black Horse! Make ready for battle!" Cheers erupted from every vehicle as Space Marines ran back and forth preparing for the coming violence.

The captain faced Leonidas again. "I hope you don't mind riding with the Black Horse, brother-sergeant?"

"I am honored to fight at your side, brother-captain Stratos."

Huggin and Trake exchanged worried glances. Just my luck to fall in with a bunch of crazy Space Marines, Trake thought.

"You can't be serious, sergeant!" Trake said, frustrated at the Space Marine's apparent sense of indestructibility. It was courageous of course, but also very foolish when you were looking down the barrels of several dozen cultist-crewed Leman Russ tanks.

"Space Marines do not run in the face of the enemy, sergeant." Leonidas said, slapping a full magazine into the bottom of his bolter and pulling back the charging-handle. He released it, and the heavy firing-mechanism slammed forward, chambering one of the explosive rounds. "We serve the Imperium, and if in the course of that service we must sacrifice our lives to destroy the enemy, than so be it."

"That's all very daring, except Huggin and I aren't super-humans. How do you expect us to even hope to make it through this?"

Leonidas raised an eye-brow. "I never said you should expect to make it through this. This is war, and the enemy at our gates is the most dangerous of them all. Take pride in the service you have rendered the Emperor this day, and know that should you fall, you fall fighting for the purity of His Imperium."

"Sergeant, with all due respect, I love the Emperor as much as you do. But I have no desire to 'fall' in battle, not today or ever."

Leonidas wanted to reprimand him for his cowardice, but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. Trake wasn't a Space Marine, so he couldn't be expected to serve the Emperor in the capacity Leonidas and his brethren did.

"The Emperor will provide, sergeant. Have faith in Him, and He shall shield you against the evils of the Dark Powers."

Trake wasn't convinced.

The attack came the next morning, just as the sun Cradix started rising above the eastern mountain range. Native myth held that it was from those mountains, the Cradixokar Spine, that the Warrior Angels came centuries ago to lift the siege of the Dark Ones. Were an administratum historian present, he would easily determine that the myth coincides with the arrival of the Azure Seraphim Chapter of Space Marines. They had happened upon the planet, which had long since been forgotten since the Age of Colonization (???), only to find it being overrun by a massive Chaos force. After defeating the enemy in an epic battle, they accepted the people of Cradix back into the Imperium's fold.

But there was no administratum historian in the Cradix system. In his place, Trake simply admired the beauty of the mountains, wondering exactly what happened to those 'Warrior Angels'. Perhaps they'll come down from the mountains to save us, he thought to himself.

"I'm not betting on it," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that, sergeant?" Leonidas said without facing Trake, still watching out towards the distant, sheer cliffs as the dusty wakes of the advancing armored wall closed the gap between them.

"Nothing, just praying for salvation." The Guard sergeant replied, checking to ensure the charge-pack was secured in his lasgun. He had four more packs left, totaling about two hundred-odd shots, including what was left in the pack already inserted into his rifle. When that ran out, assuming he was still alive, he was not too worried about the scarcity of weapons with ammunition: there would probably be plenty laying around, assuming he had the stomach to pry them from corpses.

Trake was positioned with Leonidas on the firing line; the lascannons of the two Predators aimed to fire over their heads when the enemy came within range. He hoped that the cultists inside the tanks were an under-trained rabble, barely able to operate the vehicles they crewed, and even less able to fire their weapons effectively. But eventually they would hit something, and considering the difference in numbers of the opposing sides, every man and vehicle of the Imperial force was precious; by contrast, every man and vehicle comprising the Chaos army was nearly entirely expendable. If it became a battle of attrition, the Imperials were doomed.

Trake envied Huggin. Leonidas had managed to secure him a place in a Rhino, operating the pintle-mounted storm-bolter mounted on top of the hull. The Space Marine was at first reluctant to give up his position to a Guardsman, but Leonidas reconciled him to an honorable place on the firing line. The promise of noble, glorious battle was a sure-fire way to win over the heart of a Space Marine, Trake learned.

"Just my luck," Trake once again spoke in low tones. This time Leonidas did not inquire him further. He concentrated intently on the advancing foe, speeding quickly towards their prey in the hopes of spilling more blood and taking more skulls for their dreaded war-banners.

In a rare moment of melancholy, dark humor, Trake hoped his own skull was destroyed by whatever killed him, as he was quite sure he would not see the end of the day. In the face of an insurmountable and overwhelming enemy presence, Trake had finally reconciled himself to death in the Emperor's service, and denying the Chaos powers his skull seemed an excellent way to avenge himself.

This is going to be hell, he thought to himself.

And then he chuckled.

"Brother-captain, the target is one hundred and ten meters away from engagement range."

"Excellent, Toporos. Vox the other Predator, tell them to fire once they've acquired a target within range. Shoot to immobilize: we have to keep as many of them from getting here as possible." He checked his own monitor, stating the first selected target was eighty-five meters distant now. "And ignore cool-down times. Fire until the barrels turn to slag, if you must."

Granted, immobilizing the foe was a coward's ploy, but Captain Stratos was a student of armored warfare. As such, he knew that distance and mobility were of paramount importance to a tanker. This was hardly a tank engagement, Stratos knew, but still the tenets applied.

Toporos spoke up again from his gunner's seat. "Sixty meters, brother-captain. First target will be within range in thirty seconds."

Stratos opened communications with his entire Company. "Black Horse! Imperator victus, brothers! Make them bleed!" Stratos leered down at Toporos, grinning with anticipation. "Make them fear us, brother. Open fire!"

With a screeching crack, the lascannon of Stratos' command Predator fired, signaling the beginning of battle.

The sheer dagger of energy lanced directly into the rear track assembly of a Leman Russ, ripping a hole in the side plating, exploding and melting track sections. The tank dragged around in a circle momentarily, until it stopped altogether. In its out-of-control spin, it collided with a second vehicle, which rocked violently at the impact.

The second Predator fired its weapon and another Leman Russ was struck, this time in the leading track. This one stopped instantly, its wounded track whipping out like a snake. Still the armored wall charged at the Imperials.

25


End file.
